Possession
by actual
Summary: A strange bit of insanity. Violence, paranormal activity, a certain black-haired Private Investigator, the spirit of a departed girl...
1. Possession Is 9/10ths Of The Law

Possession  
Dedicated to rainy-chan  
  
  
"Damnit."   
  
Inappropriate or not, it summed up the situation quite accurately. Ash  
dropped to one knee, placing his right hand palm down on the ground for  
support. The Glock 20 that he had been clenching so tightly in his  
sweat-dampened palm now rested against the cool concrete of the rooftop.  
  
His fingertips gently cupped the cool metal edge of the grip, as if for  
comfort. The twin of the firearm, however, hung over Ash's left shoulder,  
the barrel still bleeding its mournful wispy light gray smoke.  
  
Being a private supernatural investigator had few assets. Well, besides  
the fact that it made for some particularly inventive pickup lines...  
  
Needless to say, due to some rather disturbing incidents that had occurred  
years and years ago, he always carried a healthy supply of firearms on his  
person... Hell, he even slept with the Glocks clutched close to him. Misty  
was always teasing him, saying that it was only because he couldn't get a  
girl that close to him. Heh, if she knew half of the lovely things that had  
oozed, thumped and whomped near him, she'd realize that his half-insane  
paranoia was completely justified.  
  
Ash was sweating bullets. Doing the best to keep his cool, collected  
composure, sure, but failing miserably. Sweat dripped from his forehead,  
plastered his black hair to his head. Damn, he was exhausted.  
  
But resting for even a moment spelled slow, lingering, painful death for  
him. And, for Ash, his own survival was paramount. The very top priority  
on his list. No, it wasn't for any sweet, dutiful reason either -- he was  
just acutely aware that being quite alive was probably more pleasant than  
dead.  
  
Well, he didn't know for sure, it was just that it had always been his  
assumption that if dying was all that great, people would spend more time  
jumping in front of oncoming trains...   
  
Being half-eaten while still alive by your best friend didn't really  
rest with him too well, either. First a great deal of unwelcome advances   
and then the lovely death threats. What the hell had gotten into... well,   
that was kind of irrelevant. Screwit.  
  
Although he had done his best to stay completely alert while catching   
his breath, he had caught flickering shadows out of the corner of his eyes,   
shadows whose shape and proportion made him unwilling to turn around. While  
his better sense told him that running like hell would be his wisest option  
right now, he resisted the animal panic that overtook his body.  
  
  
Well, it seemed like just holding fast was a great choice! Nothing  
whatsoever happened... he had just been feverishly imagining the flitting  
shapes. Must've been a trick of the sunlight -- it obviously wasn't what he  
thought it was. Well, obviously it couldn't be what he thought it was: he  
wasn't even completely sure what he thought it was. He was in the midst of  
congratulating himself on making a wonderful decision that would lead to his   
ultimate better welfare -- deciding what alcoholic beverage would best suit   
his needs tonight -- when he realized he was screwed.  
  
As he watched, petrified, his crouching shadow elongated and stretched,   
the extension outlining the body of a rather attractively proportioned young   
woman. The form itself was familiar to him, but the motion with which her   
shadowy form swaggered toward him was totally unlike Misty...   
  
Right now, he reasoned, would probably be a lovely time to be on his   
not-really-all-that-merry way. But happily enough, he seemed to have gone   
into a semi-paralytic state... not all that unusual. The various mental and   
physical trauma he had put himself through in the last forty-five minutes or   
so had reduced him to a quivering mess. He could handle that. But now   
prolonged stress combined with the short respite he had taken caused him to   
go tense, as he was now. Shoot.   
  
Well, he could always try talking his way out of this wonderful little   
situation he had going here...   
  
"Ah... Misty, don't you think we could, ahhh, talk this over a stiff   
drink??"   
  
More soft, barefoot steps preceded a calm answer. Somehow, though,   
Misty sounded... different.   
  
"I told you... I'm not your 'Misty'... and since you won't have me, I guess   
I'll settle for a nice drink... and perhaps some 'soul food'..."   
  
Well, except for that last irritatingly random bit, things seemed to be   
shifting to his favor...   
  
"That's good. Why don't we just drop by my house, help ourselves to the   
contents of a few bottles, get some carryout and talk --"   
  
Ash cut his monologue short as he felt the not-Misty's body press gently   
against his back. Well, under other circumstances, he probably wouldn't be   
worried quite as much as right now. His unaldulterated fear was probably   
due to the fact that as soft and yielding as her stomach and chest felt   
against him, he couldn't ever remember anyone (especially the girl who was   
currently not-Misty) feeling so... cold. But it wasn't cold for the sake of   
being cold, it was more of a vacuous lack of warmth.   
  
Lack of anything, actually. Like there was just an absence of anything,   
matter or energy, occupying the Misty shaped space behind him. It   
chilled him, chilled him to the marrow. Aside from that, he didn't like   
it, either.   
  
Similarly, her breath as she whispered softly into his ear was just as   
horrifyingly devoid of warm life.   
  
"... yes, I'll drink your living blood, and feast upon your immortal   
soul..."   
  
Oh crap. That certainly wasn't the answer he was hoping for. Ash's   
eyebrow twitched slightly, and on a sudden impulse he feathered the trigger   
of the left-hand Glock.   
  
The silencer took care of any sound, but the snap-shot spattered Ash   
with gobs of dark blood, chunks of gray brain matter, and slivers of   
white bone.   
  
Hopping to his feet and spinning around triumphantly, Ash surveyed his   
handiwork, feeling the disgustingly cold blood drip down his hair and back.   
Carefully blowing the smoke away from both barrels -- left side then right,   
he holstered them.   
  
At one time the guns had been concealed by his trenchcoat, but the   
Misty-thing had shredded the coat with her surprisingly sharp   
fingernails, rendering it pretty much useless. So he had ditched it while   
fleeing. Damnit, he ran through more coats that way...   
  
Well, this wasn't all that bad. Since it really wasn't Misty, like the   
thing had said, there was no problem here. This was just probably some   
demon assuming her form, or something. Scanning the dead body again,   
something glittering momentarily caught his eye. Crouching down with both   
knees bent, Ash plucked at his sticky shirt while examining the shiny   
object. Upon closer inspection, it was a familiar gold bracelet about   
the wrist of the not-Misty... Oh, damn, damn, damn, damn. Damn.   
  
It couldn't be. Heh, it couldn't actually be her. Maybe it was just   
conveniently some other girl who looked exactly like her, and wore an   
identical bracelet with the same inscription, and had the same name and...   
damnit. This was just totally lovely.  
  
He was a P.I. of sorts, so he did pack a license to kill. Plus the ten   
nine-inch scratches that criss-crossed his chest were evidence enough of her   
homicidal intent... well, maybe not that alone, but the finger-marks where   
  
she had attempted to actually rip his heart out of his ribcage should   
convince anyone of her badness. Ah, on second thought, more like she nearly   
did perform the lovely deed -- had he not literally blasted her off of him   
with the Glock, he'd be dead. Of course, there was no logical explanation   
for any of it. Nothing. Hell, even the fact that he stopped and tried to  
talk her out of brutally murdering him in an excessively messy fashion, that   
showed the inherent lunacy here.   
  
Waaahh, this was just one giant amalgamation of insanity. Actually,   
thinking about the insanity made Ash feel that he seriously needed a stiff   
drink. Thinking about needing a drink convinced him he also needed a  
companion for that drink... and while he drank himself into a stupor, he'd   
hafta try to... try to... try to... fill out the damn paperwork... If this   
situation got any more twisted, he swore to himself that he'd probably have   
to spatter his own brains all over the rooftop.   
  
Now he had worked himself up so much, he'd probably need another drink.   
Or two.   
  
... Or three. Yup, that ought to do it. Turning away from the bloody   
mess that had once been a girl. A really nice... what was he saying? An   
attractive girl, to say the least. A girl he wouldn't have minded getting   
to know better... waitasecond. There was something so incredibly wrong   
about what he was just thinking to himself. Fantasizing about a dead girl   
who was pre-mortem his best friend/rival's girlfriend was just a bad, bad,   
bad thing. That called for another drink, at very least, and perhaps   
another drink, and maybe some hentai. Heh, actually his description of what   
he'd need to set himself straight again sounded exactly like a typical   
weekend at Brock's.   
  
Attempting to put all thoughts of how he had harbored a massive crush on   
Misty through his mid-teens out of his mind, Ash staggered near-blindly   
toward the rooftop exit. A cool breeze tugged at his blood-sodden shirt,   
making it sticky and chilly. The setting sun highlighted his disgusting   
messy state, warming his back just enough to remind him that the rest of his   
body was freezing to death.   
  
As he walked, Ash watched his elongated shadow spatter black blood,   
wondering if he should stop by a hospital. He had survived worse than   
this, but it would be good to have a record for evidence... smirking and   
leering slightly, he realized that he'd also appreciate some sympathy from a   
Joy right now....   
  
Damnit, what WAS with the perverted thoughts right now?!? First Misty   
and then Nurse Joy...   
  
Mentally he tacked another drink onto his list. If he accidentally   
thought of anything else ecchi, he'd probably drink himself into a coma...   
but that wouldn't be so bad, on second thought. Drinking, that is.   
  
Thoughts of consuming obscene amounts of alcohol were interrupted by a   
loud sickening slurping noise coming from behind him. Probably it was just   
the corpse doing some kind of disgusting post-mortem corpse-ey thing, but   
holding the same job as Ash did, it was just common sense to jump several   
feet into the air when an apparently dead thing made the slightest noise.   
  
Ash recovered quickly, snapping his Glocks back into a ready position as   
he swiftly spun on his heels to face the corpse. The scene that awaited him   
was fascinating. Completely disgusting, repulsive, and pretty much any   
other word that described something this hideous -- but oddly hypnotizing.   
  
Eyes glued to the mass of dead... dead-ness, he watched a gob of   
puttylike flesh coalesce and amalgamate at the base of the neck -- there   
wasn't really any 'head' left to speak of -- and expand and collect itself   
there.   
  
After a few minutes, it had reached a size nearly paralleling the   
head he had destroyed quite recently. Undulating in an excessively nasty   
fashion, the collection of flesh began to form itself into a crude imitation   
of Misty's head.   
  
Over a span of minutes, it gradually refined and evolved into a near  
perfect -- no, totally perfect, recreation of Misty's pretty head.  
  
The imitation, however, lacked the shock of orange-red hair and,   
sickeningly, any eyes whatsoever. Self-conscious, the not-Misty drew her   
hands to her face, momentarily obscuring it from view. When the she   
returned her hands to her sides, it was as if nothing had happened...   
almost. True, her cute little nose ('nother drink) and infinitely kissable   
lips ('nother 'nother drink, damnit) were restored to the perfect...  
perfectness that they once had been ('nother 'nother 'nother drink -- gonna   
be sloshed), but her eyes...  
  
Her eyes. Misty's eyes. They were covered in filmy mucus, partially   
obscuring their true nature, but Ash could still tell.   
He could tell that they weren't her eyes. They were the exact same   
shade... they were the exact same shape, they were just like her eyes, but   
they weren't her eyes.   
  
No, something lost and sad, mourning and bestial swam in these eyes.   
Something he had never seen in Misty. No... the eyes were so very almost   
familiar, not-quite but almost... almost familiar. He had seen them before,   
briefly... but where?   
  
While Ash racked his memory for a suitable answer, the familiar shock of   
orange hair flopped over the not-Misty's face, obscuring one eye as it   
always used to -- the hair seemingly exuded from her scalp in seconds.   
Starting to stride toward him, not-Misty blinked, clearing the film from her   
eyes. Dropping both Glocks right where he stood, Ash made a valiant effort   
to blink back tears.   
  
It was just too surreal. This had to be a dream or something... even   
with his extensive firsthand experience of a hell of a lot of paranormal   
activity, he knew that your best friend's girlfriend getting possessed,   
trying to kill you, dying, then coming back to life, was just something that   
didn't happen. It went against the fundamental laws of the universe, or   
something. It just didn't happen. These things just couldn't happen.   
  
And why, damnit, why?!? If this was actually going to happen -- and   
bend every known rule of reality as it is known -- why did it have to happen   
  
to him in particular? This was just far too much for him. Just as the   
not-Misty's hand reached out to touch his cheek he bolted. Flew to the   
door and half-ran-half-fell down the first flight of stairs, taking the   
rest at a bound. 


	2. Suicidal Tendencies

Possession  
Dedicated to rainy-chan  
  
  
Bounding down the stairwell, thoughts rattled through Ash's brain. Some   
bidden, others fragments of his stream-of-consciousness, he analyzed them in   
turn.  
  
His office. Or home. Whatever you wanted to call it. What was the   
fastest way to get there? Sticking to well-traveled walkways would be the  
safest idea, of course, but that was also the slowest way -- and he needed  
to be there as soon as humanly possible.  
  
There, not only did he have access to a far more ranged selection of   
weapons, but he could also safely discharge them without worrying about   
injuring bystanders. In a suitably reckless fashion, even.  
  
It appeared that taking the alleyways back was the fastest bet -- he'd   
just have to risk getting messily devoured on the way there. Ah well. Ash   
had done stupider things and gotten away scratchless, so why would this be   
an exception? Heh, on second thought, perhaps that was a question better   
left unanswered.  
  
Ash sighed relievedly. It had been at least ten seconds now, and no  
sound of the possessed-Misty thing. That had to be what it was, as it  
was obviously beyond the bounds of human capacity for pain -- plus it could  
regenerate its extremities. Then again, that might be a very bad thing.   
Not knowing where she was probably worse than having her breathing down   
his neck again.   
  
The whole case was just a little too creepy... wait, that probably wasn't   
the problem. The whole case was just a little too personal for his tastes.   
Personal in several ways.  
  
First, he was hired by a certain Misty Waterflower -- an old companion.   
She was having repeated troubles with a disembodied spirit occupying her   
newly-acquired apartment. It was a nice apartment, he couldn't see any   
reason why it in particular would be infested or anything; evidently there   
was something else going on. Cross-referencing the previous resident of   
said apartment with some dated obituaries -- couldn't get anything out of   
the management or staff of the building -- Ash found that the last person to   
live there was a certain Duplica Imite.   
  
And also that she had committed suicide for unknown reasons. He had   
actually been wondering himself how Duplica was holding up lately; a few   
weeks before Misty contacted him, Ash had even tried calling her. Of course,   
he was informed by the man on the other end of the line that she was long   
gone. That was relatively stupid, in retrospect: actors like Ms. Imite   
tended to move a lot. In any case, she evidently was doing a hell of a lot   
worse than he had ever imagined.  
  
According to the record, she had jammed the barrel of a handgun into her   
mouth and eviscerated a sizeable chunk of her brain tissue -- ending her  
life instantly. A decidedly un-feminine way of ending her life, but that  
was how she finished it off. She left no note, had no family or friends to  
carry out any wishes she may have had. Only record of her erasure from  
reality was a tiny paragraph in the back of the daily paper -- which Ash   
never read.  
  
It was rather sad. He wished he at least knew why. Why she had wasted   
the near-boundless potential she had, potential to become a successful   
actress. But he'd never find out. Never know why.  
  
The personality of the whole thing bothered him deeply, but for the past   
few days he reminded himself that it wasn't his job to worry about other   
peoples' problems, just to rid them of things that went 'bump' in the night.  
  
Something clicked just as he reached the third floor. It made sense   
now. A really twisted kind of sense, really, but it did make sense.   
  
Actually it made so much sense he felt like a mentally-challenged simian   
for not realizing it earlier. Misty had started behaving rather oddly after   
passing out momentarily... she had been giving him yet another run-down on   
where and how the disturbances occurred. Duh. It all fit together now.   
Well, now he knew why Misty had been acting rather differently.   
  
Why the spirit of a dead friend would inhabit the body of a living   
friend, hit on him, then attempt to kill him when he declined her, was still   
beyond him though.  
  
But since Duplica was currently possessing Misty, he couldn't just blow   
her away. This made things a great deal more complicated, to say the   
least. Somehow, he'd have to get Misty/Duplica to his house, and attempt to   
work out the problem that was preventing her from passing peacefully on to   
wherever it was you went after you died. And also find out why she had   
tried to kill him repeatedly.  
  
This would result in a slight change of plan, of course. Now he'd want   
to take the long route home, and make as big an attraction of himself as   
possible. Ash now needed to lure Duplica back to his house, and try to   
resolve the whole messy issue there.  
  
Pausing at the stairwell exit, Ash took a brief moment to wonder how the   
hell he could pull the whole thing off. Shrugging, he decided to just wing   
it and see how it went along. Worked every other time...  
  
Singing softly to himself, he carefully picked his way through the   
lobby, ignoring the people staring at his bloody, ragged appearance.   
Using both arms to shove open a pair of double doors, Ash deliberately   
swaggered down the street, attempting to draw as much attention to himself   
as possible. Not that he really needed to try -- people shrank away to both   
sides of him, avoiding the scary blood-soaked black-haired man.  
  
High above him, perched on the chain-link fence surrounding the edge of   
the building, Duplica watched him depart -- through Misty's eyes. Hissing   
softly between her teeth, she saw him making his way down the street in an   
irritatedly jaunty fashion. Almost as if he wanted her to follow him...  
  
"What is wrong with him?!?"  
  
  
Hopping lightly to her feet, Duplica ran swiftly down the edge of the   
fence, following the direction Ash took. When she reached the end of the   
expansive building, she took it in stride, leaping with catlike agility  
toward the next, thankfully shorter, structure. She just barely made it --  
a few inches shy and she would have made a spectacular mess upon the   
sidewalk below.  
  
So went several city blocks, Ash shoving people out of his path and   
causing fisticuffs to break out, Duplica hopping agilely from rooftop to   
rooftop in relaxed persuit.  
  
Finally, Ash turned, heading toward the Vermilion seaport. What the   
hell he proposed to do there was not evident, but Duplica followed him.   
Dropping down to the pavement, she melted into the shadows and made her way   
through the maze of warehouses, never venturing far from the darkness.  
  
Standing with one hand on the door, Ash sneaked a quick glance over his  
shoulder, Ash noting with pleasure that Misty/Duplica was still hot on his   
trail. He fumbled for a second with the lock, then flung the door wide and   
shambled in. Smirking to himself, Ash groped his way through the   
pitch-black warehouse, searching for a certain box. No, he wouldn't turn   
the lights on... as much as it would aid his search, darkness was his   
friend right now. Ash knew his way around the building in the dark; Duplica   
didn't.  
  
"Where the hell is that damn case?!?!"  
  
Seconds later, he found it -- with his shins. Cursing a few times, Ash   
snapped the catches on the front with his boot's toe, then kicked the case   
open.  
  
A silhouette filled the doorway. Though his back was facing her, he   
could clearly see her shadow projected onto the wall directly in front of   
him.   
  
For the third time this day, Ash found himself appreciating Misty's   
skinny yet shapely form. Feeling Duplica's gaze prodding his back, he   
brushed such thoughts away. Ash watched attentively as she slunk into the   
shadows, the door creaking half-shut of its own accord.  
  
Inhaling deeply, Ash readied himself.  
  
Kicking the case violently, he catapulted its contents into his waiting   
hands, then did a neat hop over the box. With a swift flick of his heel, he   
sent the case flying toward the door, diving toward the switch on the wall.   
Counting softly to himself, "Thousand one... thousand two..." He snapped   
the switch on, then whipped the Thompson sub-machinegun to face the near   
left corner of the building.   
  
The warehouse lights slowly flickered on, the case arced into the   
half-open door, slamming it closed with a resounding crash.  
  
Shrieking in a fashion most inhuman, Misty/Duplica shrank even further   
into the corner, trying to shield herself from the noise and light -- the   
sudden stimulus put her in an almost-feral defense mode.  
  
"I know who you are, and I'm not afraid..."  
  
Smiling in spite of her fear, Duplica managed to squeeze a hoarse   
response from her dry throat. Staring down the business end of a tommy-gun   
would give you a bit of a speech impediment, now and then.  
  
"Really..."  
  
"Yes, Duplica, really. I want to help you. I don't want to hurt you... if   
I had only known it was you earlier, this would have been a hell of a lot   
different."  
  
"Really, Ash... do you really think so? Or are you just telling yourself   
that so you don't feel guilty about hurting Misty? I think it's just   
remorse for hurting your precious little girlie-friend... but don't worry.   
She's fine. For now."  
  
"She's not mine, Duplica. And you're the important one here. You're the   
tortured soul, not her."  
  
She continued as if she didn't even hear him.  
  
"... But you know, I am sorry. I'm truly sorry for trying to hurt you.   
After you've been a wandering soul, even for a short time... you start   
losing what made you yourself... you begin to... to... to..."  
  
"I know. I know what happens. You start to hunger..."  
  
"NO!! NO!! You don't know!! You don't know how awful you feel..."  
  
Collapsing into a sitting position, Duplica buried Misty's face in her   
hands.  
  
"... so... dirty. Hellish. Wrong... you were so selfish as to take your   
own life because you couldn't handle it..."  
  
Ash leaned back against the wall, slowly sighing. He let the tommy-gun   
and its belt of ammunition slide to the ground; content to listen to her   
story.  
  
"... and now you're starting to lose what made you... you. You turn into   
something worse than anything... nothing. It's a damned half-life.   
Damned... damned... You don't even deserve the eternal rest. You're first   
doomed to walk the mortal plane, torturing its citizens with your wailing..."  
  
Duplica began sobbing, then slowly, reservedly, Ash began to make his   
way over toward her corner.  
  
"Then things get... bad. You start to lose your humanity, lose yourself in   
the hate for this world. Your hate overwhelms you, your hate becomes your   
personality. Living... to cause pain. Cause pain to others, because of   
what you think they did to you. After a while... I know... you don't even   
feel remorse. You hate everything."  
  
Reaching her collapsed form, Ash extended a hand down to the piteous   
form on the filthy floor. Duplica gratefully accepted it, letting Ash pull   
her to a fully-upright position.  
  
"You're just an embodiment of hate. Pure hate and malice. Seeking only to   
try to damn others to a fate worse than your own."  
  
"I'm sorry. Really I am."  
  
"NO!! I don't want your pity. I don't want anyone's pity. I just want   
out. Maybe some tortured bastard would want what I have right now, but I   
don't. I want it to stop. Help me. Please."  
  
Ash looked her straight in the eyes. Staring deep into the crystal-blue   
eyes of the tortured soul, he answered her completely truthfully.  
  
"I will do anything I can to help you. I'd even kill myself if I   
even thought it would help you in the least."  
  
"... Ash?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"... promise me, promise me that whatever happens, whatever you do...   
please, please don't do that. Don't ever do it... if only for my sake.   
Please."  
  
"... I promise. I won't. Ever."  
  
Duplica twisted Misty's face into a crooked smile through the tears that   
bathed her face.  
  
"Thanks for promising. You don't know how much that means to me..."  
  
"... I think I might have an inkling."  
  
"Yeah, maybe..."  
  
Tugging at her wrist, Ash directed her toward the corner.  
  
"I've got a bed over there, but not much other furniture... if you wanna sit   
down..."  
  
  
Duplica tried to blink her tears away, speaking in a still shaky tone.  
  
"Yeah, that'd be great."  
  
"... I think you know what you need me to do so you can move on..."  
  
Her answer was just a hollow echo of a word.  
  
"Yeah..." 


	3. Silver Side Up

Ash yawned, gently shoving Misty/Duplica toward the bed. Gratefully she   
flopped onto it; it had been so long since she could rest. As a soul, she   
was unable to sleep -- in her temporary form, however, she could claim her   
long-awaited nap... at least for now.  
  
"I'm gonna go take a shower..." Ash murmured, averting his gaze from her   
as he scratched the back of his head.  
  
"I'll just take a little nap, I think..."  
  
"'Kay. See ya in a few minutes."  
  
Duplica watched through half-closed eyes as Ash staggered through the   
dim warehouse, bouncing off crates now and again; stretching and yawning the   
whole time. Eventually he reached a smaller complex built inside the   
warehouse -- which presumably contained his office and shower. She waited   
until he was out of sight before completely relaxing.  
  
Letting her head sink into the pillow, Duplica furrowed her brow,   
wondering how she could best answer the questions she knew Ash would pose to   
her. Detail wasn't really necessary, was it?  
  
No, she should just leave it at a short explanation. Leave the rest to   
the kid's overactive imagination, perhaps. That would be best. She   
wouldn't want him to remember her as she had been before she killed   
herself... no, better for her to remain in his memories as the bright   
teenage girl she had been. It would be best that way. Let him think of   
her that way, instead.  
  
It was too bad, though, that she had to die before she found out that   
there was such a thing as "true love." Things might have been a lot   
different if she had known... before...  
  
When she woke up... well, if you wanted to call what happened to her   
after she blew her brains out "waking up", it was there. It broke   
free from the depths of her mind, where it had lain dormant, and it was the   
only thing that she could think of for weeks. Echoing endlessly through her   
tortured mind.  
  
"Find your true love."  
  
Had she been alive, she would have instantly dismissed it as being as   
trite and cliche as the "B" movies she was acting in. True love, to that   
Duplica, was just a faerie-tale trapping, something that happened to people   
in stories. Like destiny, it was merely a contrivance of human fantasy --   
something to amuse those unable to shape their own lives the way that they   
wished. Now it was different. To this Duplica, the fact that true love did   
exist was indisputable. True love, it seemed, was the only thing holding   
her back from wherever she should have gone after she died.   
  
At least that was what she had believed initially. Soon, though, she   
gave up the denial. It was her that was holding herself back. Because of   
her own selfishness, her true love now lived loveless, still oblivious to   
how his or her life would have been changed for the better...  
  
So her task was to find her true love, and make amends for what she had   
done. It sounded so simple... until you realized that her true love could   
be anyone, anywhere. With that perspective, it was hopeless. Even with an   
infinite amount of time to spend searching for her love, it would be nearly   
impossible. But then... she didn't have that time. No, she had at best a   
few weeks before the vicious nature of a lost soul completely overtook her,   
and she became merely a wandering manifestation of hate. Just the thought   
of the whole damnable situation brought tears to her eyes. It was   
completely hopeless, but Duplica'd damn well try to find her true love.  
  
She couldn't stand the thought, not only of herself becoming a hellion,   
but of her true love living a life unilluminated with even a trace of what   
love there could have been.  
  
Trying desperately to let all the bloody thoughts wash away from her   
mind, Duplica gradually released her grip on consciousness. Drifting   
asleep, her last thought was of her true love. She'd have no memory of him   
when she awoke, but for that moment, she saw his face; saw the carefree,   
happy go luck smile she had overlooked for so many years. Deep within   
herself, she smiled at the sight of him, giggled a little that she'd never   
noticed his abstract perfection.  
  
Bitterly ironic, really. She died to learn she really had a true love,   
and learned far too late that he had been literally standing in front of her   
for the last decade.  
  
Just as quickly as these realizations came to her, they slipped away.   
Subconsciously Duplica clawed at the memories while they drifted from   
her mind, but it was a futile effort. Gradually she forgot even what it was   
she was struggling to remember; her body slipping into a deep dreamless   
sleep.  
  
It was in such a state that Ash found her a half-hour later. Dead   
asleep, it seemed, but not the solemn death he would have imagined.   
Instead, a tiny smile creased her lips, lending an aura of happiness to her   
sleeping face. Nonetheless, they had much to discuss -- as much as he'd   
like to, he couldn't let her sleep any longer. So it was reluctantly that   
he shook her awake, a slightly regretful gaze that watched her fluttering   
eyelids.  
  
Ash was pleased to see that Duplica harbored no irritation about being   
woken up -- in fact she seemed quite happy. Overly so, even. Bouncing up,   
she smiled brightly at him, eyes sparkling mischievously. Hands in lap, she   
prodded him earnestly.  
  
"All cleaned up?!"  
  
His response was less than enthusiastic -- solemn would have been far   
more accurate.  
  
"Yeah. You ready to talk?"  
  
As a response, Duplica nodded a little overactively -- now this was the   
Duplica he remembered. He couldn't help but smile -- and smiling seemed to   
be encouraging her more.  
  
"Would you mind telling me why you... uhhh..."  
  
Almost ashamed, Duplica averted her gaze, her mouth pulled into a tight   
little frown at the bottom of her face.  
  
"... I had a couple of... bad relationships."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Ash's response seemed to echo through the embarassed silence that   
followed. It was a good few minutes before either of them even blinked,   
much less said anything.  
  
"... you have any idea what you need 'fore you can go?"  
  
"Yeah, I do..."  
  
"... mmm..."  
  
"I've got to find my true love. Make amends."  
  
"I see. Have any idea who he is?"  
  
"... no."  
  
Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, Ash cursed softly.  
  
"This sucks. I'm sorry..."  
  
"It's not your fault..."  
  
"The way I see it, you're gonna hafta give back Misty her body tomorrow...   
if there was some way you could stay here and try to find him... but then   
you'd run out of time..."  
  
"Shush, Ash Ketchum... you've done all you can for me. The rest is up to   
Fate and blind luck."  
  
Still whispering to himself, Ash shook his head, unwilling to accept   
that he had no control over what happened.  
  
"I promise I'll give Misty's body back tomorrow morning... I know how much   
trouble you'd be in if I didn't."  
  
"... this is so unfair..."  
  
"Ash, life itself is unfair. But this isn't unfair. It was a choice that I   
made. A stupid choice, an uneducated choice, but I made it. This is all my   
doing..."  
  
"But..."  
  
"No, Ash, no 'buts.' I'll just have to grin and bear it. You know I've   
always trusted you --"  
  
"-- somewhat unwisely, may I add --"  
  
"-- unwisely at times, perhaps, but I trust you nonetheless. Would you   
stay with me tonight? You know I don't want anything else from you...   
would you mind?"  
  
Driving any perverted thoughts from his mind, Ash nodded.  
  
"The least I could do for you."  
  
Duplica stuck her tongue out at him, laughing a little in spite of the   
solemnity of the situation.  
  
"You'd better not have meant for that to sound as dirty as it did..."  
  
Ash raised his eyebrows innocently and shook his head.  
  
"Me?!? Dirty?!? How could you say something like that..."  
  
He began rummaging through a crate, still pretending to be indignant   
that she'd say that about him.  
  
"You don't fool me, Ash Ketchum. You've changed a lot since you were a   
little kid..."  
  
"Not as much as you might think."  
  
Shading his eyes with his free hand in an embarrassed gesture, Ash   
tossed Duplica an extra-extra large tee shirt.  
  
"That's about all I've got for you to wear, heheh..."  
  
She caught it and giggled a little.  
  
"Are you sure about that, Ash?"  
  
His honesty was confirmed by the fact that his ears turned an   
astonishing shade of red as he shook his head ashamedly. Duplica shook the   
shirt at him as she stepped toward the shower, still giggling.  
  
"Well, Ash Ketchum, I'm going to get cleaned up and put this on. And when I   
come back, you'd better be ready... oh, and no peeking!"  
  
Ash sighed forlornly, wondering where the hell she was getting this   
from. Still shaking his head, he stumbled over toward a half-opened crate.   
This was more than likely going to be a very long night. Searching inside a   
moment, he produced a bottle of whiskey. With another sigh, he flung   
himself into a nearby chair, propped his feet up on another crate, and set   
to emptying the bottle.  
  
Musing to himself about the day's events, he had downed a little over   
half the whiskey -- and was feeling fine -- when he heard Duplica return.   
She skipped over toward him, prodded his stomach a few times, giggled a   
little, and swiped his bottle. Ash swung his arm in an attempt to reclaim   
it, lost his balance -- tipping himself out of the chair and onto the floor.   
As he dusted himself off, he watched amusedly as she sipped a little, then   
coughed and spluttered until her mouth was clean again.  
  
"Ughh!! This is nasty! How did you drink all of that?!?"  
  
He responded in a humorous tone as he hauled himself back into the chair.  
  
"I guess it's an acquired taste..."  
  
"Hmph. I'm not going to acquire it, that's for sure."  
  
"Suit yourself..."  
  
Propping his feet up again, Ash yawned, barely paying attention when   
Duplica scurried over to the light switch, her bare feet slapping against   
the concrete floor. Scarcely did he notice when she flipped the lights   
off. It was only when she called him from the bed that he acknowledged her   
presence with a nod. After she began to yell at him, however, he rose from   
the chair and staggered sleepily over toward her. Flopping down on the   
blankets, Ash would have been more than content to just nap at the edge of   
the bed, but Duplica wouldn't hear of it.  
  
First adjusting the pillows in a comfortable fashion, she proceeded to   
tug and pull at Ash's collar until he obliged her. Lying with his head   
resting on her shoulder, his back to her chest, he appeared to be quite   
comfortable. Either that or he was just too tired to really care how or   
where he was sleeping.  
  
Lying there, his warm body pressed comfortingly against her, Duplica   
felt a totally unexpected surge of affection toward him. Although she first   
chided herself for feeling that way toward someone who was merely an old   
friend, she couldn't help it. But instead of guilt, she felt a sensation of   
release washing over her -- as if she had felt loving towards him forever.   
It wasn't true, of course, she couldn't have loved him for that long, but   
just perhaps... wrapping her arms tightly around him, she rested her head   
against his.  
  
"I'm sorry... Ash..." 


End file.
